


A Name and Dates

by pallysuune



Series: The Son of Tirragen [4]
Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 13:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallysuune/pseuds/pallysuune
Summary: After finally returning to Corus, Alex makes a trip he's been putting off - visiting Roger's grave.





	A Name and Dates

King Roald had always been too kind. It shouldn’t have surprised anyone that he’d allowed Roger of Conte to be buried in the catacombs among the royalty and Contes of the past. Perhaps it was sentimentality for the man he’d thought Roger was. Or perhaps he was afraid someone would try to desecrate his grave, knowing he was a traitor to the crown. Compared to the other tombs, the other slabs of bronze and marble to mark those interred within the walls, Roger’s was plain, but it was still there, far better than anyone would have expected.

Alex had put off coming there since he’d returned to Corus, but it had been at the back of his mind the whole while. A siren song calling to him from beneath the castle grounds with the memory of someone that he loved, tainted with the knowledge that it had not been what he thought. A part of him wanted to stay away from it. Traveling with Alanna had been an escape from it all, and he wanted to just keep running in a way. Another part of him, though, wanted to see it, as if seeing that name carved in stone might put it all to rest finally. Break whatever spell he feared still lingered over him so he could finally hate Roger like it seemed he should.

There had always been guards at the entrance to the catacombs. They barely looked at Alex as he pulled open the wrought iron gate and stepped inside. The stairs down were slick with damp, and at the bottom of them, barely visible by what little light remained from outside, he found a lantern hanging from a hook on the wall. His hands shook as he lit it and took it with him, down the sloping passage. For a long while it was just that - a bare, chilly stone hall deep underground, but eventually other halls began to branch off, each fading into blackness as he glanced down them. One. Two. Three. He counted them carefully, following the instructions that had been begrudgingly told to him by Gary earlier that day. Seventh on the right - he turned down that hall and began to follow it, his steps slow. Around him, the stone walls gave way at times to plaques of metal or marble or something else he couldn’t identify in the gloom. Most of them were fairly well maintained. One had flowers set on the floor before it. Alex paused, lifting the lantern to look at that one more closely.

Edmund of Conte. King Roald’s younger brother, and Roger’s father. Roger had never spoken of his father, all Alex knew was that he and his wife had died when Roger was still a child. He wondered if this was why Roald had pushed to have Roger buried there. Not so much for Roger’s sake, but for his late father’s.

Beside the plaque with Edmund’s name was the one bearing his wife’s, Ailenne, and beyond that… was Roger’s. Alex stayed where he was, looking down the passage. By the light of the lantern, he could just barely make out the simple stone marker set into the wall. That was the only insult the king would allow his nephew - his plaque was not nearly as fancy as those of the family members around him. He could see the rough stone, and, even though he couldn’t read the words from there, he knew what it would say. A name. Dates. Was that really all a person was reduced to once they died? Roger, who had been the most powerful mage in the world, a skilled knight, well liked before he was revealed to be a conspirator against the crown, was now just a name and some dates carved into stone and nothing else.

Slowly, Alex stepped closer until he was standing right in front of the plain stone, a frown pinched between his brows as he looked at it. He lifted his free hand, tracing his fingers delicately over the letters. His thoughts turned to the last time he was with Roger alone in his room. He hadn’t been thinking about it, but his fingers had absentmindedly traced over the older man’s skin, along the dip of his spine just like that. Roger had snorted softly, teasing him for how restless he was. _Can’t bear to be still, can you? Not even like this._

He frowned, letting his hand drop and retreated a few steps until his back was against the wall behind him. He leaned there, just looking at the marker.

Roger of Conte

401 H.E. - 437 H.E.

He supposed he should feel relieved or something. It was no secret that Roger had used magic on him like he had on everyone else. Manipulated him. He was pretty sure that his feelings for Roger had been as true as they could be, built on what they were. But could he really be sure of that? He’d thought that Roger loved him too, but he couldn’t deny now that it could have been more manipulation. He’d likely never know the truth of it. What he did know was that there _had_ been good times. Times he was happy being with Roger, both when he was a squire and when he was a knight. It didn’t make up for the bad of it, but it did leave him with bittersweet memories and a lot of confusion.

It was hard to hate Roger when he still loved him.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here.”

The voice came from the darkness behind him and Alex turned, startled at the sound of someone else being there. He hadn’t even noticed the glow of another lantern lighting the hallway, lost in thought as he was, but now he saw the King there, looking as tired as his voice had sounded. Even so, he offered Alex a weary smile as he stopped beside him, looking to the plain stone marker on the wall across from them both.

“It’s not easy,” the king sighed.

Alex glanced at him, brows knitting slightly. “Your majesty?”

“He was a good boy once, you know. After his parents died, he grew up here with me and Lianne. Perhaps that is where this all began, being treated almost as our son for so long only to be reminded that he was no one’s.” It seemed for a moment that the Roald was talking to himself, and Alex wondered if it mattered to the man that he was there or not. He’d never heard the king speak so personally or so candidly. “He was already a young man when Jonathan was born. We had tried so often, and for naught. We had to prepare for the possibility that we would never have a child of our own. Roger had begun to be groomed to succeed me, and then Jonathan was born, and things... became very different.”

For a long moment, Alex just looked at the plain stone that was all that was really left of Roger now. “He said he saw some of himself in me,” he said finally, his voice soft. He was nearly the same age Roger had been when Jon was born when he'd been taken as Roger's squire. So eager to prove himself, to get recognition, to make something of himself. Was that how Roger had been? Desperate for recognition and success when the future he’d been promised was taken away from him suddenly and he was discarded as not the true heir? Maybe that was how he knew Alex would go along with his plans. Maybe they were too much alike in some ways. He frowned deeper, trying to dredge up the anger he knew he should feel. “He used magic on me.”

“He used magic on all of us. He was a traitor. There is no denying that. But for all he was a monster, we must also remember that he was a man, too.”

A hand patted his shoulder lightly and Alex blinked looking to Roald as the king turned and began back the way he had come. “Don’t stay too long down here. You don’t want to fall ill.”

Alex murmured his thanks to the older man, watching as his figure grew distant, turned into the main hall and then he and the glow of his lantern vanished from sight. With a sigh, he looked back to the plaque.

A man and a monster. That was certainly the truth, and it was frightening how easily one had become the other. Would that have happened to Alex, too, if he had continued as he had?

He remained for a while longer before finally pushing away from the wall. His legs were stiff from the damp chill. The only thing he had to suggest how long he’d been there was the fact that the lantern was nearly out of oil. Gently, he ran a finger along the carved lines of Roger’s name one last time before turning and heading out of the catacombs. He’d come down there looking for some sort of finality, he supposed. Peace, maybe. Or relief. The feeling that all of it was a passage that was behind him. He didn’t find that peace there. All he found was a name and dates written on a wall. He still was hurt and upset over being used, and still loved the man some in spite of it. But something about speaking with the king had left him feeling better. 

He wasn’t the only one torn by his feelings for Roger. 

Maybe he wasn’t so broken after all.


End file.
